Spirit Cabinets, haunted dolls and the Psychic Ghost Theatre

A few years ago, my husband and I joined friends for a night filled with mystery, spine-tingling adventure and something to do with bugs. At least that's what they promised. They also dangled a Spirit Closet in front of me - how could I resist? We arrived late to the theater, the second-story of a magic shop outside of Washington, D.C., and scooted up the stairs to find the front room filled with about a dozen other theatergoers. We shuffled our way into the narrow back room as I ran over fire safety pamphlets in my head since there was only one way in and one way out. Two long sets of theater chairs were set up stadium-style, facing a desk and the spirit closet - a freestanding set of four curtains on PVC pipe hanging around a chair, a length of rope and some musical instruments.

I've had a mild fascination with Spirit Closets for years and if you've been reading the blog for long, it probably wouldn't surprise you to hear that I tried to rig one up as a teenager to figure out how mediums channeled their livelihoods from ectoplasm oozing out their noses and how they... let me explain.

Spirit Closets developed under the hand of the Davenport Brothers in the mid-19th century after their father discovered they could mimic the sounds made by the Fox Sisters earlier that decade. Seeing this as a sign to develop the boys’ talents further, the boys were trained as illusionists, using the spirit guide or control of a ghost of a man called John King.

King would assist the brothers in their nationwide act of using a Spirit Closet or Cabinet Séance. According to witnesses, the men would be bound hands and feet while seated on a bench in a large cabinet, measuring six feet by two feet balanced on two sawhorses off the floor.  During the séance, the brothers closed the doors of the cabinet and within minutes were free to the amazement of the crowd. They then re-entered the cabinet and after the doors were shut and the lights dimmed for effect, the doors opened by assistants to reveal both men tied up. To make things even more interesting, the assistants would then place musical instruments such as a guitar and a tambourine in the Spirit Closet and the doors shut again. Almost immediately afterwards, music would be heard coming from the box played by King.

The Davenport Brothers would invite skeptics to join them in the box but only if they agreed to be tied up as they were for their own protection from the spirits. One man reported feeling ghostly fingers run over his body while he sat in the dark box and music played around him.

Later mediums adapted the act to include "manifestations" of ghosts by having them appear as ectoplasmic residue, some of which looked earlier like cheesecloth ---ooooh, and ghostly limbs appearing from their variations of the Spirit Closet. 

So.

I waited in great anticipation for the magicians to hop to it and get to the good stuff, wading through an hour of mediocre magic tricks and one excellently bad haunted doll that moved down a hallway via strobe light and really really loud music. The lady down the row from me wouldn't stop giggling though I suspect now it was more from nervousness rather than mirth since she kept grabbing my brother-in-law. After brief periods of darkness where we'd be tickled with feathers and slapped in the face with a wet sponge - yes, I paid a ticket for this - we got to the cabinet.

One of our friends was chosen to accompany the magician so as he tied her to the chair before the curtains closed, I watched for any leaking ectoplasm or heads up for extra, well, heads. As the he disappeared from sight after closing the curtains on her demand before she went into her trance, music started. A clamor of trumpets and cymbals, and I think even a whistle, erupted from inside the makeshift Spirit Closet. Clothing flew from the top of the curtains and there was great shaking inside as if Chris had himself been taken over by an unseen force and coerced into its paranormal boogie. He pulled back the curtains to reveal the magician still tied to her chair, yet now wearing his jacket and still deep in the trance state. Back went the curtain, more shaking and trumpets, and again open to reveal her in another state of trace-like serenity, only now missing items of clothing. I had to wonder what kind of show I'd signed us up for at that point. 

The act ended with her at last being released from her paranormal spell and the audience being ushered out with an invitation to buy a t-shirt and a mini-Snickers.

I freakin' loved that place and yes, I bought the t-shirt.

I did hear a ghost. I did! I did! I did? Caffeine and things that *may* go bump in the night

Oh sure. I see you looking at me via the Internet spycams *waves*. I'm knocking back my third cup of coffee and you're thinking, "This woman needs to comb her hair and does she know she still has toothpaste drool on her chin?" Let's put that aside for now. *wipes chin*

La Trobe University in Australia has released a study claiming that participants knocking back copious amounts of coffee (five cups or more a day - child's play) and under stress may hear things that you won't find on Pandora -- like your seventh grade teacher asking for your book report on the worm reproductive cycle. The study asked test subjects to listen to white noise and indicate when 'White Christmas' by Bing Crosby was played. Those with higher levels of caffeine and subjected to more intense stressors (not listed but I'm assuming a five-year-old was involved) were found to boogie to Bing even though the song was never played.

So how does this relate to ghosts? If the investigator is highly focused on finding something - and hopped up on coffee during the night - are they really likely to hear a voice float out from the ether? Or is it the combination of caffeine and the brain making them more susceptible to suggestion?

Or does the caffeine make them more receptive? Hmmmmmm, they didn't cover THAT angle, did they? (not the purpose of the study)

Like any good study, more research is needed. I'll keep you in the loop as always.

Thar be ghosts and goblins on my mountain

I live in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, and as the skinny, twisted trees shake in the wind that punishes the mountainside, I swear I hear them. Not far from my house (literally 1/4 mile), a jet crashed in the early 1970s, killing more than 250 people aboard on a foggy night. The nosecone came to rest against a large boulder that now holds memorials and a small headstone. Houses now dot the forest where once there was only charred bits of metal and humans, my own house built five years ago on the scarred face of tragedy.

As my husband built the house, he'd tell me of being in the forest near twilight and hearing the branches snap. Footfalls far heavier than deer or woodland creatures would echo to his ear. After my family moved in, he and I would see flashes of light outside our windows, snagging the eye and fading just as quickly. I've written before about random hauntings but this was different. These, do not wander. These were at home in the forest and we were but a momentary blink in their reality.

So what the heck was that I hit in the road last week? I could have sworn it was a dirt-covered snow chunk... except it hadn't snowed yet. Square and at least eight inches tall/wide, it straddled the yellow dividing lines on the mountain road; my eyes were strained from the weak winter sunlight at dusk -- perhaps an animal -- couldn't be sure. A square, rock-solid beast that didn't squish when I winged it with a tire. I thought little of it aside from a "dang it" when I heard the knock against the car door as I passed.

My daughter and I returned thirty minutes later, discussing the subtle nuances of the song Dancing Queen (there are none) when I came upon the rock again. This time, I slowed so I wouldn't hit it... but a few feet from our passing, the rock turned and stared at me with eyes not apparent before. I yelped, to put it mildly. Then feeling horrible that I had inadvertently hurt something and we turned around to see what it was and if we could help. It had vanished. The animal/rock/goblin was gone and nary a roadkill was to be found.

Paranormal? Probably not. Freakishly weird and hoping this thing doesn't have a grudge. You bet. I know enough about Elementals* to wonder if I'd chanced upon another one of the mountain's other residents, however. Something tells me this ain't over.

What roams around your neck of the woods?


*Elementals are spirits of the Earth such as pookas, fairies, banshees, goblins, etc.

Can't slip anything past them...

So much for me keeping the girl ghostie on the down low. My daughters have been seeing her for months. Last night as I fell asleep, I heard a distinctly male voice call my name in my ear. Why wasn't I more surprised? Meh. I rolled over and went to sleep.

I'm noticing an increase in phenomena, not only in my house but touching others' lives. My friend and fellow investigator, Susan Utley, has been having her own ghostly issues for a while now, she shares on her blog - Creative Procrastination. I'm also being contacted by those who have been freaked out by what they feel may be ghosts, what the heck is going out there? Stay tuned!

So this is the Dead of Night... ;)

Just when you think it's safe to get back to dreams of Daniel Craig and chocolate ice cream, another ruckus. Getting to bed around 1am, my husband and I heard a loud crash and a flicker of orange light -not unlike a flame, in the living room (as seen from the hallway). I popped up and went to check, of course nothing was out of the ordinary. I'm not one to panic nor jump to conclusions so went to sleep. Meh. I'd figure it out in the morning.

Daylight brought the usual: breakfast for my husband before he went to work, copious amounts of coffee and the unusual - one of my daughters before the crack of noon during summer vacation. She wondered why I was in her room shouting her name at 8am. Nope. Not me.

I may need to crack open that notebook again.

Ghost in the mirror

Ok, I’ll admit it; mirrors freak me out. Aside from the usual wake-up shock I get every morning, I just don’t feel comfortable around big shiny things that can blind you in sunlight and let in the shadows at night. Alice had it all wrong, stay on this side of the looking glass.

There are many stories of the supernatural being trapped behind the smooth perfection of glass, remember the Magic Mirror in Snow White? Perhaps it wasn’t just a story after all, take away the woodland creatures and you have a witch talking to a ghost in a mirror. You will always find a large ugly mirror with chipping silver backing in old movies, I think it’s the same one in every film before 1972. About 20 feet tall and gothic, it features every freakish monster you could imagine creeping up on a blonde brushing her hair in her underwear.

Mirrors seem to catch the breath of its subjects. There's always the chance that they see more than we do and keep its secret.

Happy Friday the 13th!

Garnet, Montana - ghost town

One of my early experiences with the paranormal came from visiting a ghost town in the northwestern USA while on vacation. Now, you’d expect a ghost town to come with the prerequisite residual hauntings or at least a spooky outhouse. This town of Garnet, Montana, had its share of rundown buildings as it nestled in a wee valley in the mountains. A gold mining town, it once held the riches of the mountain in its palm and miners flocked to pluck it from between the fingers of the hillside. It grew fat and rich for a time but when the gold ran out, so did the miners. leaving behind a hotel, a general store, small houses and large pockets dug into the nearby hills (plus the aforementioned spooky outhouses).

My family wandered through what was left of the town, along with other curious tourists, trying to get a sense of what it was like in its heyday. Imagining dirty, desperate men coming from inside a mountain wasn’t difficult, what remained of their cabins told the story better than any signage the BLM had provided. Ruined furniture, rusted pans left scattered about filthy cabins and the feeling of failure permeated the broken walls of the houses, why wouldn’t there be a haunting? It seemed as if that was all there ever was here.

I entered the hotel slowly. Once there was grandeur of sorts, now it looked like a woman ruined by too many men and not enough self-respect. Plaster flaked from the walls and heavy tables stood in the middle of the first floor dining room, looking strangely proud of weathering time and being able to show off their wounds left by drunken gunshots and the flying glass of old arguments. I followed my family upstairs to see the rooms. They were partitioned off by Plexiglas so you could peer inside but not enter. In some of the rooms, the windows were left bare, sunshine squeaked in through the dirty glass and fell onto beds salvaged from the hotel and covered with old quilts. In others, the windows were covered, dusty light shone through the boards that swallowed the glass. These rooms held what seemed to be 100-year-old garbage. It covered the floors and rose up the walls, it smelled like decay and made you want to turn away. I, naturally, couldn’t.

As I got closer, my heart started to beat louder in my ears and my nose started to twitch. I felt lightheaded and wanted to run. I poked my head into the room and at once felt something rushing towards me. I am not particularly psychic, just enough to know when to get the heck out of a place! If I could describe it, I’d say it was pain, screaming and confusion coming at me all at once. I backed away quickly and my investigational gene kicked in. I checked out the other rooms to see if I experienced any similar occurrences and casually asked my husband if he had seen anything out of the ordinary. This man is as intuitive as a brick. “Nothing that a dustbuster couldn’t help…” he replied.

I knew what I had felt was unusual; I tested it again before we left the building. Again, my heart raced and my nose tingled but this time there was no attack of emotion towards me. I could feel that it sat huddled in the corner, amidst the rubbish and filth, and watched as I moved out of sight and down the stairs, escaping into the light.

A Scottish haunting

The Scottish twilight comes late in the summer, the sun refuses to set until 10pm. My American brain couldn’t make the rapid change to daylight 18 hours a day, so I spent many hours combing the village of Whithorn where I had signed on to dig up a medieval priory ruin. On this night I enjoyed a rare moment out of the rain, I seemed to be growing webs between my feet. I hopped down into the pit and carefully picked my way to the safe spots so as not to disturb the bones poking out of the soil. Darkness was settling, however, so I communed with work a bit more and started to head back. As I did, I detoured into the priory’s graveyard. Hundreds of years of residents made the small space crowded, their plots busy with multiple bones.

I had been through here many times before but this night the wind seemed different, it went still and quiet as I randomly wove through the tombstones. As I paused near my favorite, a waist-tall stone whose owner had passed in 1603, I noticed a glow coming from a site nearby. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe as the glow floating by condensed into a bright shadow of a figure. I could make out the shape of a man, small and bent, his head down as he passed me. I must’ve made a sound because he stopped close by and began to raise his head. By now the darkness had come and it was consuming, I stepped back and bumped into the stone and could move no further. He raised a face smooth but old, his eyes absent. I watched as it floated across the stones to one in particular, the same shape as his but with imprints of flowers. He hovered over it for a moment and disappeared as the wind sighed in the trees above us.

Naturally I couldn’t let this pass, I checked both tombstones. The first had a carving of a satyr dancing with a skeleton, the inscription on the back read “Joseph MacInnes, 1645-1704”, the second had flowers curling over its small face, surrounding the words, “Mary MacInnes, 1650-1679.” I returned the next night bringing friends but no appearance came from our boy Joseph, now I only felt the heaviness of the oncoming rain and the force of the wind on my face. Joseph apparently likes only nice weather for courting.

Kids

Kids have a natural affinity to communicate with spirits, heck, they're made up of extra energy! Many times you'll find if there is activity within an area, a child may be able to access it more readily than an adult.

I like working with kids so much that I wrote a book about how they can learn more about ghost hunting in a safe and responsible way. Please visit The Girls' Ghost Hunting Guide for tips, how to capture Electronic Voice Phenomena and what to pack in your ghost hunting bag. It's a great sleepover books as well with games, recipes, ghost stories and how to write your own ghostly tales.

Now for the fun part~

I LOVE hearing ghost stories from kids. I have five daughters and they help me pack my ghost huntin' bag when I go out on investigations! Curiosity is encouraged and I'm excited to hear what y'all have to tell me! Please email me at stacey.i.grahamATgmail.com with questions or comments. I hear from a lot of kids looking for research papers in school, I'd be happy to chat with you too!